


The Brave & Blind

by Starrcrossrose



Category: DBZ - Fandom, Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Androids, Capsule Corp, Engineer - Freeform, Future Fic, Futuristic, Hacker, Icejin, Multi, Neo West, Neon - Freeform, Robots, Sci-Fi AU, Science Fiction, altered carbon - Freeform, mercenary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-08-19 04:30:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16527380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrcrossrose/pseuds/Starrcrossrose
Summary: Neo-West has grown and evolved wonderfully, thanks to the science of Capsule Corps. and their many other branches spread across the world. The city is thriving and all is safe.Or, so it seems.Bulma knows that the Dark Alleys were built for the seedy and greedy, but she never knew to what extent. Once she was old enough to understand, she made a choice; she would bring down the Dark Alleys, and more specifically "The Icejin", for good.+++Vegeta's mind is usually only set to one thought. Survive. No matter the cost, no matter how much you want to stay down, get up and survive. It had gotten him this far, so it shouldn't fail him now. All he cares about is working back what is owed to The Boss, to Frieza, in order to set his family free.+++Both paths collide as the two race against time, monsters, and machines. After all, the Dark Alleys were built for people like them to die.





	1. The Wires | The Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ETNRL4L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/gifts), [VEGETApsycho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VEGETApsycho/gifts).



> Inspired by VEGETApsycho's Cyberpunk art she did a while ago, and also by the one-shot that ETNRL4L did! It was amazing, no lie! You both are very talented, bless you both.

Bulma:

The streets were slick with the rain. Water still sprinkled the glowing city, spackling the visor of Bulma's helmet as she coasted down the bustling streets of Neo-West. The scrolling feed inside her visor glowed a soft blue and green, the occasional reds popping up as she neared the edge of the Bright District and approached the area her destination was in. Her feed started to glitch as she took a left exit, and when it tried to go dark, she reached up and pressed a button on the side of her helmet. There was a soft click and then a whirring noise as her helmet shifted to a slightly different shape, a small antennae protruding near her left ear.  
Bulma knew she shouldn’t be here. She knew how dangerous it all was, but it had taken a long time for her to get this particular job secured, and she was determined to have her end of the trade from this delivery. Her fingers brushed the box strapped to the back of her hover-bike, making sure for the twentieth time that’s it was still there. The device she had built was pure perfection, a pair of gloves that could hack into almost any security system in the Dark Alleys. She was exchanging it for information, not money. She had plenty of that still stored away.

The streets darkened from their bright whites and yellows and began to turn to neons. Pinks, blues, greens, reds, purples, they all bled together across metal and glass buildings and dripping down to the gleaming streets. She slowed as the foot traffic grew closer together, and finally she stopped her bike off to the side of one road. She didn’t bother to put a kickstand up, instead picking up the package from the back of her bike then pressing another button on the side of her little vehicle, watching as it folded in on itself until it was the size of a ring box. Picking it up she placed it in one of the pockets along her belt, securing it. 

A soft beep caught her attention as she pulled her helmet off, the glass visor part staying placed over her eyes in the shape of cat-eye glasses. The helmet folded into a bracelet and she slipped it over her wrist, watching as a tiny picture popped up in the left lens. It was a picture of a woman, her long, dark hair tied up in intricate braids laced with metals. She was frowning.

“What’s up, Chi-Chi?” Bulma asked, trying to keep her voice light. Her hair tumbled down her back, the brown tresses falling flawlessly into curls that landed just past her collarbone. The hairpin holding her bangs from her eyes was coded to hide the natural shade of her hair; Bulma didn’t want to be noticed more than usual in a place like this.

“What do you mean, ‘what’s up’, Bulma?! Are you insane?!” She was yelling, the closeness of her voice in Bulma’s ear making her flinch. Her destination coordinates lit up green on the right lens and she waited for them to calibrate.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking. But, I have to do this.”

Chi-Chi’s eyes softened. “I know what’s at stake for you, Bulma, but this is literally crazy. You could be killed. You should have let Goku go with you.”

She started walking through the alleys, several kiosks and stalls lit by lanterns and bright, neon star-energy lighting her way. There were people of all sizes, shapes, and status wandering the muddied roads, purchasing anything from trinkets and food, to people and body mods. It made her sick, to see the children hunched near their parents as the begged for money. But, she knew what would happen if she dropped coin for them. They would use it for drugs, mostly, and then maybe some food if there was anything left over. No. As much as she wanted to help them, that wasn’t why she was here.

“Sorry girl, rules were to come alone. If I brought Goku, I wouldn’t get the answers I’m trading for. Also, he’s bad at being sly.” A group of children ran past her, giggling as they went. She didn’t know how they could smile at all in such a bad place, but then, so had she once. 

“You could’ve taken me then! God, you’re so impulsive sometimes! It’s amazing you’re still alive.”

“So I’ve been told,” She smiled, hoping it reached her voice as she approached the last three sets of directions to her meeting place. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll alert you if I need help.”

“You better. I’ll fill in Goku and have him outside the Dark Alleys just in case.”

“If you must, but I’ll be fine. See ya.”

Bulma shut off her feed with a touch to the left side of her frames and approached the doorway, the green coordinates on her right lens disappearing. One of her hands was tucked into her black bomber jacket, the soft wool on the inside keeping her warm from the drizzle of rain, while her other was holding the box tucked under her arm. The shop in front of her was bathed in a green and yellow glow, the language one she could barely recognize, but it matched the symbols on her coordinates. This had to be the right place.

She stepped forward and knocked with the agreed rhythm. It was a code to let the person inside know it was her, and to allow anyone unwelcome to leave. Bulma waited, her dark yellow boots tapping nearly impatiently as the minutes ticked by. After nearly five minutes had passed, she was beginning to think that she was in the wrong place. Pulling up her coordinates, she allowed a quick calibration only to be pointed towards the door in front of her again. 

Was this all a setup? Her palms began to sweat as she tried to keep her cool. No. The device I brought is too useful, they wouldn’t pass it off just to kill me, especially when they don’t know who I really am. Unless… no, they aren’t smart enough to figure that out.

Leaning closer, she angled her ear towards the thick metal door, listening for movement of any kind. When she finally began to hear voices, she took a step away, her eyes widening. Someone was arguing inside. Damn it all, she had left her handy thermal goggles back home too, not thinking she would need them. They allowed her to see concentrated heat signals, so in a way, she could see through walls with them. With the level of arguing escalating quickly, she took another step back just in time to hear a particle gun power up and fire. She gasped, her back hitting the wall behind her, the green coordinates still pointing their almost obnoxious green arrow to the door in front of her. 

After a moment, a slot in the door slid open, revealing a dressed up, plump guy from only the neck up, framed like a dirty, old portrait in the metal. “Sorry about that, miss.” The man grunted, his voice lighter than she had imagined it would be in person. “You Miss Blue?”

Bulma collected herself, standing up straighter and moving forward slowly. “That’s right. And, you’re Popo, correct?” He nodded and she turned her nose up just slightly. “I don’t appreciate the wait much because of the rain, but I will let that pass as long as I get the Wires I requested.”

He grunted again, then wordlessly opened the door for her, holding it open as she strode it, all with a confidence she didn’t really feel. Her eyes glanced over the shop and she saw a pool of yellow blood beginning to spread around a slumped body. If it weren’t for the kind of work she were trying to do, she might have been sick, but instead she feigned indifference and nodded towards the body, turning herself away. “Blood Mods. What was he trying to get out of you?”

“More Blood Mods than he paid for,” the man replied, motioning for her to follow him around a corner towards the main entrance of his shop. They stopped just outside the opening to the outside stall before he veered into a smaller room. It looked like an office, except it only had a touch plate for zenni transfers on the desk, while the rest of the room was strangely clean. “Anyway, he was getting too rowdy. Eyes were lit up like sparklers, so he was probably on something. Tried to pull a weapon on me, so I shot him.”

“Mmm. That’s too bad.” Bulma said flippantly, setting the box gently onto the desk.

“Not really,” he muttered, eyeing the box. The man was shorter than he had looked when he first appeared in the doorway earlier, but he still had an air of importance. He had black markings covering most of his skin and his head was wrapped in a white cloth. He wore no shirt, only a dark fabric vest and slouchy pants. The man had mentioned that he was from another country, a place of deserts and death. Now that she was seeing him in person, she could almost believe that.

“I meant for you. Cleaning that up will be a pain, I’m sure.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “But, enough of that. The Wires?”

The man chuckled, sitting himself into a chair and motioning for her to sit in the old, rusted one beside her. She remained standing. Her gut was churning, knowing that the man had a weapon when she did not. She had to play her cards right, but she also didn’t plan on making herself at home. All Bulma wanted was to get in and get right back out.  
The man nodded to himself before pulling a drawer open using one of his fingerprints. It took a large amount of willpower to not feel like she had to defend herself, especially when the man was reaching outside her point of view. When his hand reappeared, he presented a metal circle wrapped loosely in wires. It posed to look like a vehicle part, but Bulma knew better. If she took it apart, there would be a small chip that she could put in a disposable hard drive, hack into, and get what she needed. After, she would frag the chip and wipe it. 

“Your Wires, Miss Blue.” Popo grinned, a sly, knowing look in his eyes. “Please be cautious.” 

“Of course,” She replied, unlocking the box between them with her own fingerprint and retinal scan. She refrained from lowering her yellow tinted glasses too far, instead sending a pre-scan directly to the box before dislodging the scanner and placing it in one of her jacket pockets, zipping it shut. “Now, here are the gloves you asked for. Don’t mistake me either; if I find out you’re trying to use them against me, I can hack them faster than anyone you could hire and I will disable and self-destruct them before you can blink.”

Popo gave her a narrowed look, the two locking eyes for a few tense moments. Then, he broke into a smile that radiated humor. “You’re something else, Miss Blue. First, even. I like that. You have my word, I will not turn on you.”

Bulma gave him a long look before returning his smile. She wasn’t getting a read on the lie detector sensors in her leather-gloved hands, no tiny shocks along her fingers to alert her. Usually she could read someone herself, but in the Dark Alleys, you could never be too careful. It seemed like she could trust this man, at least for now.

She extended a hand to him and he shook it snugly. “Thank you for your business, Mr. Popo. It's been a pleasure.”

“Likewise,” he released her hand and stood to show her out. “But do take what I said to heart. Be very cautious. The Dark Alleys don’t seem like the kind of place you should be snooping into.”

Bulma was already walking away towards the back door again, her eyes actively staying away from the chilling body on the floor. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Goodnight, sir.”

He returned the sentiment and, within a few strides, Bulma was back in the small street outside, bathed in the yellow and green glow of the small sign above her head. She released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding, a triumphant smile tugging her mouth upwards. She had done it, without help no less. 

Reaching up, she tapped the side of her glasses to activate a video call. Sliding her slim finger across the metal arms of the glasses, she stopped when her small contacts list landed on Goku and confirmed the call with a blink. As she waited for him to pick up, she exited the side-street onto the main road, sticking close to the walls. 

After a few rings, the line clicked on. “Hey Bulma! Are you ok out there?” His cheer sounded forced. She had known the man long enough to know when he was worried but trying not to be.

“Goku, I know I’m great at securing lines, but you should still call me Blue.” She smiled to herself. 

“Well, then you should call me Nimbus. Double standards, Blue.”

“I have never agreed with your choice of codename, so why would I now? Besides, who chooses a nickname based on an old-school motorcycle?” She chuckled, her boots squelching as she walked. 

“That’s mean! It’s a cool name and a cool bike! You can’t deny the classics, B.”

The rain had finally stopped, and she was tempted to shop around for some parts that she may be able to haggle for. After all, she was in need of some new parts for her bike, as well as some bits for weapons and body mods. But, as more people started to stare at her, she realized that even with her current disguise, she stood out too much. She couldn’t stay long. Besides, she had work to do.

“Hey, are you really ok? Chi-Chi sounded really worried when she called me, and to be honest, I’m upset you didn’t ask me to come with you.”

So, he was worried. “Awww, you’re cute, Goku. I’m fine, really. In fact, my job was super successful and I’m feeling really proud of myself!”

He laughed in his usual, light way, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself again. He was always so upbeat and positive, a good friend and loyal gunslinger. She knew she could trust him with anything, but she also knew that she had to do some things herself. She couldn’t rely on Goku forever; this mess of a life was hers to clean up.

Goku's voice hit some static and Bulma pulled herself from her thoughts. She was now standing in front of a shop with bright pink and purple lights, the words in Japanese and English. She vaguely heard Goku telling her that he was going to wait for her to leave the Dark Alleys before heading home, but she couldn’t respond. Something about the sign in front of her made her ears start to ring, her blood start to pound, eyes unfocused as she felt herself trying to stare through the walls. Her blood ran cold, her feet frozen to the wet pavement as the words tried to connect to something old and forgotten in her memory.

“The Palace,” she mumbled it out loud, as if to try and speak them into reality. 

“What?” Goku's voice barely reached her ears. “Blue, you alright?”

Her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. Why was she feeling this way? She wanted to move, to leave this bad place and go home and get to work. She only had a fraction of what she was going to need to make her plans a reality, but she was standing here, frozen. Something was wrong.

“Bulma?” Goku's tone shifted into concern, but she couldn’t form words to assure him or tell him she felt stuck.

Her hand drifted to the inside of her upper right arm, brushing the fabric of her bomber jacket where she knew the mark was. A memory, a threat, a promise. A thing she used as fuel to do what she was doing now. The thing that made her leave everything behind to pursue the only future she could think of that wouldn’t end with the collapse of Neo-West in its entirety. She had dreams of it, of the Dark Alleys becoming a large serpent, swallowing the rest of her city, her home. The Bright Districts, the Working Levels, the Schools, all covered and eaten by a shadow so dark and dense, there would be no way out. It would spread to cover city by city, country by country, until the world was nothing but a black coal amongst burning stars. At the end of her dreams, she could see the world crumbling to ash and fire, her veins burning with hatred and grief as her childhood scars ripped at her. She had to stop it. 

The Palace was a place for monsters posed as men, a place where you could gamble everything and anything in exchange for pleasure, money, mods, and drugs. She knew the men who frequented such a place were the lowest of the low, or owed more than they could give, and that many women and children worked and died there. She hated the place, but the claws of fear kept her there. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Goku yelling for her, saying he was coming to get her out, when the doors to The Palace burst open. A large man with an ugly pink skin mod tossed a figure out onto the street, the sound of their body hitting the pavement seeming to finally shake her from the shadows in her mind. Curled up on the wet street was a young man, and he was barely alive by the looks of his beaten and bloody body. The one in the doorway looked up at her, lips drawn back in a snarl, dark eyes seeming to glow with a purple ring in their center. 

Ice Drops. 

They were a huge new drug going around the black markets, making people react in various ways. It was meant to draw your truest, purest form of personality or strength to the surface, and it cost a fortune to get a hold of. However, even with the police and highest ranked investigators working on shutting the sales of Ice Drops down, Bulma knew it would never happen. Not when the Icejin, a mob of drug lords and human traffickers, were the ones running the show. They were royalty here. And she was standing right in front of one of their main clubs.

The sneer of the man in the doorway turned to an evil hunger, and Bulma took a step back, her hands reaching for the particle gun that wasn't there. She had come to this job unarmed, after all, and now her brain was short-circuiting like mad. Where was she supposed to go? The young man on the street coughed up blood, trying to pick himself up. The pink-skinned man began to take slow steps in her direction, as if he knew she wasn’t able to move right. “Hey, pretty lady, what are you doing out here all alone?” The bigger man cooed thickly, his accent slurred by the drugs in his veins.

Then, the man on the ground looked up at her, his dark hair clumped together in bloodied spikes. His clothes were torn nearly to shreds, and the bits of bronzed skin that she could see were littered with scars and bruises. He looked strong, albeit short, but even in his current state, his dark eyes gleamed with a raging fire of defiance. And a ring of silver.

She gulped. A Merc. A high-class one at that! There’s no way he lost a fight to someone like that. 

Thinking fast, she reached into her belt pouch and pulled out the metal box that housed her hover scooter. With a simple push, it would unfold in less than five seconds, ready for her to ride away. But, she didn’t have that kind of time, so Bulma did what she was best at. She improvised.

“Stop right there. Take another step, and I chuck this at you and you’ll wish you hadnt crossed me.” She did her best to keep her voice steady, eyes focusing on the pink man's shoulder instead of his eyes. 

He laughed, a garbled, nasty sound. “Oh, what, you'll stone me to death? Lady, you are no threat to me. A treat, for sure, but not a threat.”

“Listen here, you fat, pink loser! We live in a world filled with tech far beyond your dumbass comprehension, so let me make this clear. This is a Cherry Bomb, purchased fresh of a weapons market that you could never find. If this hits you, it disassembles and burrows into your skin.” The man stopped his slow approach, eyes beginning to widen slowly as she lied smoothly. “After that, they disassemble your blood stream, your veins, your organs, and within two seconds, you’re in shut-down mode. You will feel every moment of agony before your entire body combusts from the inside. All I have to do is aim, throw, and give the verbal command of my choice and it will all be over for you. So I suggest you let me leave, asshole, before you die in this ugly street.”

“You… you're – you're lying.” He stammered, fumbling over his own feet a bit.

“Do you really wanna place that bet?” Bulma challenged, lifting a finger as of to press a button on the device.

The pink man sucked in a breath, glancing down at the bleeding man between them. He seemed to be trying to gather himself, his face contorting with anger. “You bitch.”

“Go ahead, keep calling me names,” Bulma snapped. “Because I am only seconds away from losing whatever sanity I have left, and your massively unappealing face will be the receiving end.”

Bulma felt her fear edging into stupid bravery as she spoke. She even had the strangest urge to laugh maniacally as the man faltered, his face paling when he took two steps back. In fact, thought she was laughing when she realized the sound wasn’t coming from her. It was coming from the guy on the ground, his mouth red with blood and his nose crinkling slightly as the sound rumbled from his chest. He didn’t seem able to stop and it left the two people on either side of him unsure of how to react. 

Bulma was about to ask what was wrong with him when the sound of a bike engine roared through the street, the sound bouncing off the walls. Her head whipped around to see a bike drifting the corner, the metal gleaming sleek black and a bright orange while blue LED strips lined the inside of the bike. The rider was coming right for her and she smiled and jumped back toward the wall, her hand still extended with her scooter's cube. Her free hand snapped her bracelet off and she pressed it to her glasses, letting the mechanics do the rest. The motorcycle halted only long enough for Bulma to jump on, her helmet securing with a final click. As they sped away, Bulma couldn’t help but give the men her most elegant hand gesture, bravery still coursing through her veins. Or adrenaline. She couldn’t tell which, but it hardly mattered now. 

Wrapping her arms around her savior, she pressed her head into his back, trying to ease the shaking in her body. The green call indicator beeped softly in her ear and she blinked at it to answer before closing her eyes. She gripped at the man tighter, her shaking arms and hands feeling as though they weren’t strong enough to keep her on this bike. She could’ve died, dammit, or worse.

“Bulma, talk to me.” Goku's voice was surprisingly soft, a tone she had only heard him use a handful of times, and usually only with his family. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head slowly, her breath quivering throughout her helmet. “No,” she managed. “I… I might have been though.”

She felt one of his strong, warm hands place gently over hers for a moment, squeezing it. “You're ok now. Let's get you home, get some food in you, and work on our next motive.”

“Thank you.” Her breath was ragged but, for some insane reason, she felt herself smiling. Then, even stranger, she began to laugh. She couldn't stop, almost like a carbonated drink being shaken inside of her, bubbling and expanding until she could do nothing else but let it all out. She has been successful, she had survived an encounter that any other girl may not have, and she was going home to start working on the next step. She had done it. Damn, she was a genius. 

The neon lights of the Dark Alley faded into light once more. 

++++++

Vegeta:

He really hadn’t thought this day could get worse. His job had gone sour, all because of the incapable partner that had been sent with him. The man had been too high on Ice Drops to do or say anything properly, and Vegeta had tried his damn best to have everything go over smoothly. However, as things escalated, the man had insulted their client, Popo, then pulled a weapon on him. Poop had been much faster, shooting the man without hesitation before turning his weapon on Vegeta. But, Vegeta was no fool, and he had quickly left the shop, growling that he would be back to collect the payment and mods that were owed. 

He knew for sure his day was thoroughly fucked when he got a call to report immediately on how the collections call had gone. His leather jacket was still slightly damp when he had arrived in front of The Palace, a place his mind wished to forget. He had been here too many times throughout his life, and only within the last year or so had he managed to stay away for the most part. In fact, today would be the first time he had stepped foot in The Palace all year. Vegeta could stomach personal calls from his higher-ups when he was only taking his mission and returning with what was asked of him. Now, however, his stomach clenched and turned, knowing that with his failure would be brash punishment. 

Knowing that sick freak, I won’t even be allowed to fight back. Dammit, why did they send me with someone so incompetent?! I could’ve done it on my own, but… ugh, let’s just get it over with. The young mercenary took in a breath and approached the seedy back entrance. The small sign on the door read “employees only” and he had to suppress a snort of distaste. No one here was an employee; only a means to an end.

Using a retina scan, he felt the silver ring in his eye turn slightly, making his mouth twitch, and waited for the door to open. Once the locks slid out of place, the metal gave a small pop and he pulled the handle, going inside. 

There was a thin cloud of smoke lingering on the ceiling, and his sensitive nose crinkled against the sickly-sweet smell of the different herbs and drugs being inhaled by the patrons littered about the first enormous room he came upon. There were large purple cushions scattered about the room, all with various shapes and sizes of people draped across them. The walls were a soft lavender, and small glass tables held drinks and various types of fancy smoking devices, all hand crafted. The lights inside were low, glowing with soft blues, purples, and greens. It made distinguishing humans from hybrids more difficult, which kept the money flowing. Half-naked to fully naked women and men cradled up to one another in the dark room, giggling and moaning as they drank too much, smoked whatever they desired, and paid copious amounts to be touched in ways they couldn’t be in most other establishments. It made Vegeta sick.

Walking quickly, he skirted the horrid room and made his way through a curtain of tiny glass beads, trekking down the narrow hallway before entering yet another room. This one was also large, and lit with vibrant, ugly pinks and blues, like the bright candy sold in the markets outside. Such colors were meant to grab attention, and maybe that worked for most visitors, but Vegeta always found himself squinting in this room as he tried to force out the vibrancy around him. A long, floating bar made a half circle along one wall, its seats filled with people. Dotted here and there were glittering, metallic tables with pole dancers in their centers as music bumped throughout the place. The women were all beautiful, but most of them were far too young to be working in such a place. Vegeta wasn’t the type to care about such things, at least normally, but his head was already racing with ways he could be punished. He just hoped none of them fell to what little family he had left.

As he tried to leave that room, a large figure stepped in front of him, blocking the way. He closed his eyes fully for a moment, his hands clenching into fists in the pockets of his worn, leather jacket. When he opened them again, he released a breath through his nose, eyes meeting those of the person in his way. Almost immediately, he wanted to flinch back when he saw the thick ring of purple in their eyes.

Kami’s sake, does no one around here know how to handle their drugs?! He frowned to himself. Aloud, he only said, “Out of my way, Dodoria.” 

“I don’t think so, Prince.” He slurred, dragging Vegeta’s street name as if it tasted awful. “I heard ya botched the job. Das no good, y’know.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Vegeta narrowed his eyes, deflecting. The success or failure of his job was no one’s business but his own and Frieza’s. “You know our grand leader doesn’t like when we get high while we work.”

“Ya mean while you work.” The man spat back, his pink skin-mod looking even brighter under the too-bright neon lights. “Liss’n, kid, you’ll never be shit. I can do wha’ever I want because, unlike you, I’m strong enough ta be considered useful.”

“Sober up,” Vegeta tried to sidestep the brute. Dodoria only moved to stand in front of him once again. “I have to make my report. Now move it, before I move you myself.”

“You fucked up, little Prince. I already have the Boss’ permission to give you your punishment, personally.”

Vegeta took his black gloved hands out of his pockets, body already reacting to the tension coiling in the air. Dodoria’s tone had shifted so quickly, too quickly. The violet ring in his eyes had dimmed slightly, his eyes more focused as he sneered down at Vegeta, and his hands were already coming up to a fighting position. Neither of them spoke a word, the pulse of the music around them nearly synchronized with the young man’s heartbeat as it picked up the pace. 

Then, they were moving, fists flying as they dodged and landed blows, shifting back into the room. A few women let out shrieks as Vegeta jumped up onto one of the pole dancing tables, kicking a patron’s glass at Dodoria and grinning as it cracked against the man’s head before exploding across the floor. People began to either run or start having their own brawls, the sounds of shouting and shattering glass mixing with the thumping bass of the music surrounding them.

Shifting, Vegeta dodged a heavy glass cup that Dodoria had aimed at his head. Grabbing the clear poll in front of him, he used the momentum of his dodge to swing around the poll and land a hard kick to his opponent’s shoulder, then jumped from the table to the side of Dodoria that was now unbalanced. With a shout, he threw a hard punch into the man’s side, feeling a rib or two crack beneath his punch. The pink-tinted man stumbled, tripping across an overturned chair and landing heavily amongst another fight going on. The people fighting there merely moved out of the way, trampling the leader of the gaudy room without much thought, but leaving him out of their personal business nonetheless. 

Dodoria was on his feet again, drawing a gun from his belt and aiming for Vegeta without any regard for the other people in the room. He began to fire, pink sparks lighting up each shot as Vegeta dove beneath a different table, taking out weapons of his own. He didn’t want this to be a gun fight. No, he wanted to feel flesh splitting and bones cracking, so in his battle-driven mind, he thought Dodoria was cheating. 

The knives flew from Vegeta’s hands with practiced ease, the first one cutting into his opponent’s arm to loosen the grip on his gun. The second knife buried into the barrel of the gun, slicing through the steel like butter. Dodoria dropped the gun with a roar, his venomous gaze finding Vegeta as he held his now bleeding arm. He barreled through the chairs, money, and glass and exchanged a few more blows with the young man, and even though his blows were much stronger, Vegeta was faster. He dodged two punches aimed at his head, landed two of his own in the chest and jaw, then landed a hard kick in the man’s bulging pink stomach. Dodoria slid a few feet before hitting the DJ booth with a hard thud and falling to his side without an ounce of grace. 

Vegeta bounced on his toes a bit, his thick, heavy boots crunching the shards of glass beneath him, hands up and ready to fight some more. He couldn’t help the smile that was now starting to tug the corners of his mouth, or the chuckle that cracked from inside his throat. He loved a good fight, and if Dodoria were less high on Ice Drops, he may have been a better challenge. Even the taste of blood in his mouth and the burn of new bruises couldn’t deter him from wanting to beat Dodoria into the ground while he had the upper hand.

Before the fight could continue, however, a chill swept over the room. The music died suddenly, and every other fight going on in the room came to an eerie stand-still. They were all staring in one direction and, with a knowing stiffness, Vegeta slowly turned his body to look at the man only a few feet behind him. He was sitting in his ornate, floating throne, the cushions a crimson red and his drink a deep, glowing violet. His eyes were the bright red of cherries, and the deep purple of his personally tailored suits did nothing to deter from skin whiter than fresh snow. His sharp, black nails tapped against both the glass in his hands and the gold lining his chair, eyes never leaving Vegeta.

Unsure of what to do, Vegeta fully turned his body and bowed stiffly, gaze falling to the floor. If he knew anything, it was that Frieza already knew everything, and speaking to defend himself would only make the punishments worse. Instead, he stayed in his bowed position and said only, “Boss, how great to see you.”

The words came out dry and empty, but unlike everyone else in this hellhole, he wouldn’t try to please this man with respect. He only did as he was asked to keep the few people left in his life alive. It didn’t mean he had to kiss ass to the one responsible for killing nearly every member of his family, his heritage, his culture. The man had committed genocide more than once, and Vegeta aimed to keep it from happening again if he could help it. 

After several moments of quiet passed, Frieza spoke. “I don’t remember asking you to make a mess in here, Vegeta.” 

His cold gaze bored into the top of Vegeta’s head as he remained in his bowed position. “My apologies, Boss.” He replied. 

“That isn’t good enough,” he sighed, sipping his drink. The near black of his lips glowed slightly from the drink. “You see, I know the job I sent you to went sour. I thought I could depend on you a bit more, but I guess I was wrong. I was going to let you off easy, but now seeing the mess you’ve made, I’m thinking it best to give you a real punishment.”

Bullshit. Vegeta grit his teeth, jaw tightening at the words. You’ve never let me off easy, you bastard. He breathed through his nose slowly, trying to calm the rage that had begun to burn in his veins. Survive. That’s all you have to do. Survive.

“I have no excuse,” He managed to push the words out, drawing his eyes from the floor up to the coldness of Frieza’s bright red ones. “I can only say that the job’s failure, as well as the mess in here, is my fault, and mine alone.”

Both men knew the words weren’t true. Frieza knew he had sent someone inept and prone to violence on their collections call, and he also knew from the purple ring in Dodoria’s eyes that he was working while high. Neither were stupid, but this game was one-sided, and Frieza was always the victor. Some tense moments of silence passed, Vegeta finding it hard to keep his gaze locked with the nearly reptilian looking man before him, when Frieza cracked a smile.

“You’re learning, little Saiyan.” Vegeta could taste the hatred in the way Frieza pronounced his former last name. “How about we get your punishment over and done with, yes? I have another assignment for you and I don’t want you wasting any more of my time. Dodoria?”

The flabby pink man stumbled over by Vegeta, bowing clumsily around his cracked ribs and busted body. Even though Vegeta knew what was coming, it made him feel better to see he had landed some good, hard blows. He was getting stronger. Not strong enough to take on the top elites of the Icejin while they were in top form, but strong enough to fight all Frieza’s underlings and some bottom-rung elites. But he had to be patient. Acting too soon out of excitement would get him or the last of his family killed. He wouldn’t risk that, not now. He wasn’t holding a trump card, or even a decent hand in this game of mind and skill, but Frieza was right about one thing. He was learning, and soon, he would be smart enough and strong enough to take them all down.

“Yes, Boss?” Dodoria looked up at Frieza, eager to be spared and to please the man who ruled them.

“Go get those cuts sealed up immediately. Report back here in five minutes. You are going to fight Vegeta again, only this time, it will be by my rules and until I tell you who the victor is.”

“Y-yessir! Right away!” He stumbled off into the hallway and took a left, following a path that Vegeta knew all too well by now. The loser was going to get his cuts and ribs healed, and even though it would hurt like hell, his joy over not receiving a dock in his rank would be enough to push him through it. 

Vegeta stood still, waiting with feigned patience for Dodoria’s return. His mind was racing through all the reasons why Frieza would want to grant permission to fight one of his elites as a punishment. He already knew the answer, and it left such a bad taste in his mouth, he wanted to pretend he didn’t know. But it was there, clear as day, like a sign flashing over and over behind his eyes, a signal of fight or flight that he knew would both have to be ignored. He was going to be beaten to near death, like when he was younger, then be denied access to the healing chambers before being sent on to a new mission. It was like a nightmare he had never managed to wake from as he began to shut down everything in his heart and mind, everything around him fading into a dull static. He knew the answer. 

He hated knowing.

++++++

Blood bubbled in his mouth as he attempted to spit it out, dizzy and weak as the world spun different directions around him. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the motion of the world as he was carried over someone’s shoulder. To where, he didn’t know. He was having too hard a time just breathing through nearly shattered ribs and other bones to think of much else.

The next thing he knew, he heard a door being opened and nearly sighed in relief at the cool breeze blanketing his hot skin. That is, until he felt himself being tossed, his body moving through the air for less than two seconds before the hard impact of his limp body jarred him harshly. He would’ve cried out if not for the fact that the wind had been knocked out of him. Everything hurt, his trusty old jacket had been ripped to shreds, and the clothes he currently had on were in terrible shape as well. Droplets of rain dripped from a small overhang somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t feel any fresh water falling from the sky. A bloom of cold began to spread from somewhere near his hip and he realized he was nearly laying in a puddle of rainwater. 

Vegeta was trying to clear his mind, to grasp his surroundings as best he could. He could hear Dodoria talking to someone, but whether it was him or not, he wasn’t sure. He tried to push himself up from the ground, a sharp pain lancing through his arms and hands as he did. It took a lot, but he managed to lift his head, his brain switching into survival mode as he began to regain full consciousness. He expected to see Dodoria, or the back street to The Palace, or even some druggies hoping to get leftover usage from whatever was tossed in the dumpsters around the corner. 

Instead, he found himself looking blearily up at a woman. She was still a distance away, standing more in the back street than in front of The Palace, and Vegeta knew right away she had been walking by at the wrong time. She looked to be about his age, a pair of tinted glasses hiding the color of her eyes as she gazed down at him. Her brown, softly curled hair was pinned out of her eyes with some sort of white hairclip, and she wore a brown, fleece-lined bomber jacket, a navy-blue shirt, and skin-tight black pants that tucked into a pair of mustard yellow boots. She was pretty, she was soft, and she was in the absolute worst place she could be.

He wanted to tell her to get out of there before she got sucked into the ugly world of the Icejin, before they took everything she loved and crushed it like paper, burning everything to the ground when they finished. Vegeta could almost feel the fire from his past, like a wind chasing down a storm. He knew it was just his wounds perking to life as his awareness returned to him, that the fire was ages ago and that his paper world had been ripped apart nearly from the day he was born. But he could say nothing, could only watch as Dodoria tried to approach the stupid, helpless girl who stood there like an idiot. 

Except, the strangest thing happened. Her eyes hardened, a hand came out of her pocket, and she produced a metal box. It wasn’t very big, her dainty-looking fingers peeking out from her fingerless gloves as she gripped it in one hand. She was shouting something at Dodoria, threatening him, it seemed. Even weirder, it seemed to be working. His hearing was starting to come back to him, the static and blood draining from his swollen body as he slowly began to catch what she was saying. 

 

“ – disassemble your blood stream, your veins, your organs, and within two seconds, you’re in shut-down mode. You will feel every moment of agony before your entire body combusts from the inside. All I have to do is aim, throw, and give the verbal command of my choice and it will all be over for you. So, I suggest you let me leave, asshole, before you die in this ugly street.”

Vegeta couldn’t believe his ears. What was she talking about? That tiny box could do something like that? What kind of advanced tech was she using?! Suspicious, he did his best to focus on the silver rings in his eyes, reaching for the zoom feature to see just a little further. It took far more concentration than normal, given the state of his body, but he managed to get a zoom that brought her box into clearer focus. 

Dodoria had stopped his advance, had even taken a small step or two back, and even though he seemed angry, Vegeta knew he was scared. “You bitch.”

The girl smirked. “Go ahead, keep calling me names, because I am only seconds away from losing whatever sanity I have left, and your massively unappealing face will be the receiving end.”

The pink man was stunned, his mouth agape as he tried to decide what to do. The girl was still holding the box out, and Vegeta realized that, with Dodoria’s drug-induced vision and the darkness of the night, he couldn’t see the box like Vegeta could. He had no idea, none at all, about what she was holding in her hand. 

He couldn’t help it. He began to laugh. His body hurt like hell, the cracks in his bones and skin nearly weeping from the strain, but he couldn’t stop. Here was this girl, this absolute fool of a girl, was threatening Dodoria with a hover-scooter, just enclosed in a very modern capsule of sorts. She was holding her vehicle in her hand and telling the, now very afraid man, that it could eat his organs from the inside-out and he was buying it. Even with the absolute shitstorm of a day that he had been having, Vegeta knew he was getting at least one good thing out of this day. And it was that Dodoria was the biggest idiot ever, while this girl was braver than anyone he had ever come across.

As he laughed, a gleaming orange motorcycle (an old-school, by the look of it), careened into the small alley. The girl stepped back as if to let the bike pass, but as it began to slow by her, she reached up and touched the side of her yellow-tinted glasses. He watched in amazement, his body still shaking with laughter, as a helmet unfolded over her head and she jumped onto the back of the bike. 

Then, with a middle finger salute and a shit-eating grin, her and the person driving the bike were gone.


	2. The Alleys | The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta is struggling to stay alive, to make it to the next day.  
> Bulma has to make a choice... and she isn't sure what the right one is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to:
> 
> A whole lot of cyberpunk/future synth music to get me into the right head-space! However, I've been listening to mostly FM-84, Gunship, and EVERS during the last few days trying to finish this!

Bulma:

“Ok, try running the diagnostics again.” Goku turned to face her, lifting the dark-tinted goggles covering his eyes and giving her a thumbs up. He had been working with her for the last couple of hours trying to get the Wires they received to connect and give them the answers they currently needed. So far, Bulma had been struggling to configure the chip to her personal computers but decided that temporarily rewriting the software of her own tech would be better than potentially messing up the data in the chip. 

Chi-Chi had previously been watching the diagnostics run while Bulma typed code, but she had left to get them all something to eat. So, in her absence, Bulma was doing both, her eyes scanning furiously as she typed and scanned in a vicious cycle. Goku had suggested they take a break, considering she had been working on the chip since arriving home from the Dark Alleys, but she had refused him. Now, it was nearly five in the morning and they were all starving, not to mention exhausted. 

A small string of panicked beeps hit her ears right before the power in the room shut down, plunging them into darkness. Bulma cursed loudly, pushing her wheeled chair back from the desk and chucking her data-scanning glasses across the room. She put her face in her hands and groaned loudly, ignoring Goku as he stumbled towards her in the darkness. He had always had good eye-sight in dark spaces, but there were so many wires and tables and chairs in this tiny room, that even he had a hard time getting to her side. Finally, he knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“I can go fix the breakers, B, but I really think you should take a break. Get some sleep. You’re always in top form after you’ve had a nap and caffeine, and right now, you’re seriously lacking in both.”

She sighed as she sat up a bit, her hands sliding up over her face and pushing her messy hair back for a moment. He was right and they both knew it, but she had an itch to get this done. The fingers of her left hand grazed over the intricate scarring on the inside of her right arm. She didn’t want to feel like a gambling piece anymore. She knew exactly what was at stake here, and resting felt somehow like giving up. But, the way her friend sounded genuinely concerned and with his gentle hand on her shoulder, she knew he had a point.

“Fine,” she sighed as Goku helped her stand. Her fingers fumbled across her desk until she found her stack of everlasting glow sticks. “That doesn’t mean I have to like to though. I’m only going to sleep for a couple of hours, got it?” 

Goku merely laughed in his usual, good-natured way and gave her back a light pat. “Whatever you say, boss.”

She cracked one of her glow sticks, the blue light filling the room, and thought of the time she had first invented them. Her father had laughed, said there was an ages old movie that his grandparents used to watch where someone had invented ‘everlasting gum’, or something like that. Bulma had merely huffed that they were fictional and that only she could create something like that. Her father had only laughed harder.

Bulma grimaced at the memory. She hadn’t seen her father or mother in over a year. Maybe longer, but she couldn’t keep track of time lately. It felt like she was in a never-ending race to not be swallowed whole by her own thoughts, her past. Time was truly like sand, slipping through her fingers faster than she could grasp it, and she could feel herself starting to tire. 

Goku lead the way out of the room, holding open the door that led into the hallway of the rest of her building. It was dark all through here too, and Bulma felt a fresh wave of weariness from it. Had her work really surged the breakers? She was usually so good about knowing the limits this building could take, but maybe this time was different. After all, this was a whole new type of chip she was working with; it had to be stronger than she originally thought if it could darken her entire house and not just the lab.

Just as they were reaching the living room area, Chi-Chi stumbled in the door with a squeal, her arms full of fast food bags and a drink carrier. Goku was at her side in an instant, his face going serious as he took the food and drinks from her in her frantic state. “What’s wrong?”

“There was just… I dunno… I felt like I was being followed. Not at first, but when I was leaving the market, I saw some dude beaten half to death stumbling along the street. I don’t know why but… he just seemed… lost? But then he saw me staring and he started to walk towards me and…”

Goku looked down into her wide, dark eyes, the twisted silver in her hair gleaming lightly as Bulma came closer. “Chi, we see stuff like that everyday around here.” Even as he said it though, all calm and collected and rational, his head lifted from her face to scan the room, as if the person were inside.

It was true though, what he said. The place that Bulma had chosen to stay and do her side-work was only a handful of miles from the Dark Alleys. Because of that, they were right along the borders of the homeless, the helpless, and the sick. Every day out here was hell for the locals, and Bulma had already seen her fair share of it in the short time she’d been working out here. She could only imagine what other things people saw that lived here all the time.

“No, something about this guy was different. He was all rough around the edges, mean looking, and when I saw his eyes… he had… had the ring.” She looked up at Goku, who had set the shopping items on the bar counter just a few feet inside the doorway and fisted her fingers into his shirt. “He’s a Mercenary. The ones with Silver Eyes.”

Bulma felt her heart rate kick up, her body stiffening as her mind flashed back to the man she had seen just a few hours earlier. He had looked up at her, the almost metallic gleam from the ring around his irises daring her to say something. Even beaten bloody, maybe even possibly dying, he had looked deadly and strong. It had made her more afraid of the man who had tossed him onto the street. And the way the young man had laughed when he heard her empty, clever threat… it had been pure amusement. She had sensed that he maybe knew, knew she was lying to survive, afraid for a split moment he would call her out on it and she would die before she could ever exact her plans to rip the Dark Alleys apart. But, instead, he had just continued laughing, the sound wet and rasping as he gripped his side weakly, blood still slowly oozing from wherever he was injured out onto the gleaming, dirty pavement.

Strangely, she found herself moving before she could think, striding right up to Chi Chi, who was now curling into Goku’s chest, placing a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder. “What did he look like?”

Chi Chi seemed thoroughly confused by her question, unshed tears glittering in her eyes and Bulma had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Her friend was far stronger than Bulma could ever hope to be; hell, she could probably take out a group of 5 or 6 men if she wanted. She trained with Goku sometimes, practicing self-defense even though she was usually their hawk, their sniper. Goku worried about her when he couldn’t be near to protect her, so he trained her as hard as she was able to go so, he felt better about having them split up for future missions. So, for Chi to be acting scared now made Bulma want to slap some sense into her.

“Look, I need to know if you were being actually followed or not. He may have just thought you could get him help, if he was hurt that badly. So, Goku, I need her to give us a description, so you can go check around the block real quick.”

Goku looked over at her then, his hands absently rubbing up and down a Chi Chi’s arms, slowly. “You can’t go out there!”

“Not without you,” she glared up at him. “I have to go with you to make sure we can wipe a memory if need be, and only I know how to hack the mods people wear these days.” She looked away, already heading towards the door to put on her shoes. Her next words were more to herself than to her two friends. “Besides… my family are the ones who made most of them.”

+++++

Vegeta:

He swears he went down this street already. Damn it all, he was going in circles, and hazy ones at that. He was losing too much blood, having been beat more towards death than he had originally thought when he was first thrown out to the street. It wasn’t until he was trying to find a medical place that was open this early in the morning that he realized he was too dizzy to really see where he was.

He had seen one person staring at him, had hoped it was someone who could tell him which way he needed to go. They had scurried away, and he sighed, resigned to helping himself as usual. He knew the silver ring in his eyes scared most people off right away, knowing full well that the Silver Eyes worked for Frieza, and Frieza alone. God. Even with the damn thing turned off, it still glinted too brightly, turned painfully in his sockets when they powered on. His model was outdated, probably needed repairs from all the damage he kept gifting to it, but he never had the zenni. Silver Rings were expensive as hell, and with all the other things he needed to pay for, Vegeta figured it wasn’t worth the money.

Now, however, as he tried to power it on, the gears turning and illuminating gently, he instantly wished he had the better models. It hurt so much more when his body was in this state, but he needed to see where he was going. Where the hell were all the medical clinics?! Damn it…

He slipped, boots skidding as he tried to catch himself, body slumping against the wall as his weak hands barely caught him from face planting. His skin was smeared with crimson, his stomach churned, his head spun. God, is this how he was going to die? No… no, he still hadn’t reached his full potential. He hadn’t made good on his promise. Get up, he thought bitterly. Get up, you weak ass. Walk. Heal. Survive.

It took so much more to get to his feet than he thought it would. He couldn’t believe the effort. It had been a long time since he’d been beaten this badly. Usually, he did his jobs correctly, efficiently, and ever since he had become a man, since he had become stronger, he was hardly ever picked on anymore. Not like when he was a kid. His childhood was filled with the bitter, constant taste of iron in his mouth, bile in his throat, his bones aching from the constant state of bruising and scarring. No, no he would not give up now. It would be too satisfying to the likes of them, the likes of Frieza. He would kill the son of a bitch someday, if it was the last thing he did.

Survive.

Vegeta was still trying to struggle to his feet, still so unsure of where he was, when two figured rounded the corner. He noticed that the blinking, flickering yellow of the lights here didn’t look nearly as nice against the wet pavement as the neons of the Dark Alleys did. Hated that he found anything about that place pleasant, but he couldn’t help it; his mom would’ve said something like that. She always had something positive to say. Vegeta can’t remember the last time he said anything positive out loud, but he thought of what his mother would say if she were here. 

He thinks the figures, one tall and broad, the other tiny and slim, would walk right past him. Maybe even turn and run. But, suddenly, they’re moving toward him and Vegeta is instantly in the defensive, trying to get to his feet, trying to prepare for a fight. His traitorous legs won’t hold him up, won’t work with him as he stumbles back to his knees, a fresh bloom of hot, thick blood warming his side. It feels hotter than it had earlier, and he realizes then just how cold he is. No… no, he doesn’t want to die here. Not out here, not at the hands of the likely muggers coming his way. He knew muggers started with the mods, knowing muggers sold those pieces of tech like they hadn’t been lodged in someone else’s body only hours before. The thought of his eye being gouged out flashed through him and he snarled, unthinking, holding up an arm like he could shield himself from anything now.

“If you know what’s… good for you, you’ll… leave me be.” He hates how he can’t breathe, how even that small sentence had taken so much energy. At least he sounded threatening, and it halts their steps a moment. Vegeta tried so hard to use his Silver Rings, to read them without really seeing them, to get a gauge on if they were strong, friend or foe, but he wasn’t getting anything. In fact, he felt his rings shutting down, sputtering slowly to a stop, making him wince in pain as they ground roughly to a stop. With an agitated growl, he looked up at his attackers and was slightly worried that he was seeing a slight edge of double on both the figures. Shit. Shit, shit shit, he was really dying.

The glow of a small, holographic screen protruded from a wristband on the smaller figure, lighting the face gently with a blue-green color. The figure was curvy, and he realized it must be a woman, her eyes hidden behind some sort of yellow glasses. It reminds him of the girl he’d seen a few hours before, daring to stand up to Dodoria with such witty lies. He had laughed so unbearably hard at the fact that it worked and almost wished he could get away from the fat fuck as easily as she had. Only, this woman’s hair and outfit were different… nah, it probably wasn’t her.

The taller, obviously more fit figure strode up to him, kneeling slightly a few feet away, and Vegeta instinctively glared, swinging a fist that he knew was clumsy, knew was too weak to do him much good. Still, he did it out of will, his iron will, to make it to the next day. The figure dodged him easily, said something to the woman behind him, voice nervous and naïve sounding. How could someone that big sound that young?

The black dots in the edges of his vision were beginning to expand, his body shivering even as he tried to suppress it. He had to stay awake… had to… even as the hands to the person standing before him began to reach forward. They grasped his shoulders. Vegeta tried to push the person off him, but he was finally going to pass out. Part of him was relieved but, honestly, the rest of him was starting to feel fear. He didn’t want them to gouge his eyes out. Couldn’t survive in Frieza’s gang if he didn’t have eyes. Didn’t have the credits to get fake ones either. Would probably end up being beaten again to near death, worse than he currently was, just for losing his eyes. 

Instead, the hands held him steady and Vegeta could no longer keep himself awake. He let the blackness take him, grateful he was no longer feeling anything.

+++++

Bulma:

Oh god, it was the boy from earlier. The slicked flame of his hair was telltale of it, along with the Silver Rings in his eyes, their nearly white glow telling her they were active. She had worked quickly, pulling up her holographic screen and hacking into his mod faster than she thinks she ever had. Hardly had to think about what she was doing, and it made her realize that she really had progressed in her recent years of learning mods and how they worked, how they were programmed. She knew now that her instincts could outweigh her overthinking her work and decided to tuck the thought away for further inspection later. Right now, she had to deal with the young man dying in the street in front of her.

Goku had hesitate to approach, but the compassion in him won over as he walked towards the boy. He was so much smaller than Goku, now that he was kneeling beside the boy. The man wasn’t tiny, per-say; it was just that he was shorter than the six-foot, long height of Goku. No, this boy looked strong, stocky and trained. But, seeing him struggling just to breathe, just to hold himself up, made something in her gut turn. Bulma hadn’t really wanted to leave him there, behind The Palace, but she had been so fearful for her own life, so sure that he would be ok, that people like him could handle themselves, that she hadn’t even brought him up to Goku. 

“Oh god,” she whispered out loud. She didn’t know why she cared, but then again, that’s just how she was, wasn’t she? Bulma had always been the type to try and help those around her, to try and make Neo West a better place to live and thrive in. The Dark Alleys were such a damn eyesore whenever she looked out over them. In fact, the area the Dark Alleys were located could be beautiful and rich in culture if she could just weed out the Icejin. But, looking at this boy, she realized she may be more unprepared for saving this city than she thought. In that moment, she had thought of herself above anyone else around her. Looking down, she saw her hands begin to shake. “Goku, I messed up.”

“Bulma, come on, we have to get him medical help.” He said, seemingly not hearing what she had just said. He reached his hands out to the young man, watching as his lips pulled back from his teeth weakly, trying to look intimidating but only looking more painful than he had moments before. Goku easily dodged a weak right hook and set his large hands on the boy’s shoulders. Just seconds later, the boy’s eyes rolled back slightly and Bulma knew then that he had passed out. Maybe even died. The thought of it made her want to throw up.

“He’s fine,” Goku shifted the boy until he was able to pick up the stranger, reading Bulma’s mind. “At least, he is for now. Come on, he needs immediate medical attention, or he might die. Can we take him to your place?”

She isn’t sure what to say for a moment. Just sees Goku’s arms already smothered in blood and dirt as he holds the unconscious boy in his arms, almost as if he doesn’t weigh anything. Her eyes can’t stop looking at the blood, at the scarring she can see through the man’s ripped clothes and she suddenly isn’t able to speak. Why… why can’t she…?

“Bulma.” The voice is stern, strong, and she looks up to see Goku giving her his serious eyes. He knew how to ground her somehow, had since they were children and she would get overwhelmed with her work and her inventions. She would feel like crying, would throw things across the room and scream in frustration while Goku looked at her with wide eyes, face still round from youthfulness as he walked up to her. Even when they were children, he could just put a hand on her knee or her shoulder, the touch always friendly, and would tell her something. Most of the time they were obvious things, like that she shouldn’t get so angry over something so small because it wasn’t good for her. Or he would just sit quietly, face drawing into something more understanding, like he got why she was so mad. He had always been bright, Goku had, both in mind and in personality, so whenever he was stern, he meant it. “Bulma, listen to me. He is going to die if we don’t get him help now. Can we help him at your place or do we need to go somewhere else?”

She swallows the lump in her throat, the anxiety that had threatened to crush her for a moment, and nods. Then, as if with a snap, her brain is functioning again, her body moving and mouth following with it. “Yes. I have the proper medical supplies and some of that healing salve I’ve been using on you for his wounds. Does that stuff work alright?” They’re walking now, more like a light jog as they head back to her hideout. “You always seem to heal fast as it is, and even though you said it works good, your wounds have never been this serious.”

“Nah, that stuff works great, B! It will probably take longer to heal since he’s hurt pretty bad, but it should help. It also has a nice numbing affect while the cuts heal, so it isn’t as painful.” Goku’s long legs are already carrying the tall boy ahead of her, and Bulma has to pick up the pace a bit to be able to keep up. 

“Ok, good,” she says, putting a hand up and pressing a button on her glasses, dialing over to Chi-Chi. When her friend picked up, she had it set to audio only, so Bulma knew she must be communicating from her wrist band instead of her headset. She’s talking before her friend can even say hello. “Chi, I need you to go into the medical room we set up for when you and Goku spar. Clear the table, wipe it down, and get that healing salve ready. Also, a needle and some stitching thread. If we’re out, we’ll have to use the iron.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait, what’s going on?! Bulma, did something happen to Goku?!” Her friend’s voice pitches up slightly, obviously panicked. It grinds against Bulma’s patience again, and she feels so bad, but they don’t have a lot of time right now. 

“Chi, nothing is wrong with Goku. But we found someone and he’s dying. I can’t… we can’t just leave him there. We have to help him.”

“But –”

“Please! Come on, we aren’t far away, and we need to work fast or he’s going to die!”

The seriousness, almost desperation in her voice seems to reach through to Chi-Chi because, a moment later, she hears her shuffling through some things and then hears the clatter of metal on metal. “I’m on it, Bulma. Sorry, I just got worried. See you soon.”

“Thank you, be there soon.” She says, a grateful rush of air leaving her lungs before she jogs to catch up to Goku again as he hangs up. 

When they arrive, Bulma’s shaking hands open the door and Goku is striding quickly for the medical room. Bulma shuts and locks the door, plunging herself back into the darkness of her house. Damn, it was going to be hard to work by just her glow sticks alone, but she didn’t have a choice. Fixing the breakers would take too long and with how dark Goku’s face had become within the few blocks they’d walked, she knew they were cutting it close even as it was. Grabbing another couple of glow sticks from the counter, she cracked them on and then rushed for the med room, arriving to see Chi-Chi backing out of the room in shock and horror as Goku laid the man’s body on the stainless-steel table. He was already asking Chi-Chi to get warm water and a soft cloth, and even though she moved right away, Bulma didn’t miss the look of disgust on her friend’s face as she passed her in the doorway. 

Somehow, Bulma’s brain had switched to her all business mode, ready to take action where it was needed. She began preparing the salve, sterilizing her hands and putting on gloves before dipping her hands into the wide jar filled with sticky, green liquid. Chi-Chi had come back with a bowl of water and a cloth and Goku had already torn the last bits of the man’s clothes off, eyes squinting as he saw some of the fabric having dried to the cuts along the stranger’s chest. He got to work cleaning up the wounds as best he could, leaning over the half-naked man, and Bulma couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her throat. 

He was positively scarred. Worse than she had ever seen on anyone, and even in the soft blue glow of the sticks they had placed about the room, they stood out horribly. The worst of them were deep, crisscrossed markings on his chest in the shape of a twisted, elongated “x”, and then a couple more along his stomach and arms. There was an open wound in his side, near his ribs, and Bulma had seen enough injuries to know he wasn’t just going to need stitches. He was going to need medication to help reset his ribs. The bruises blooming along his chest were the clearest signal of that. In fact, he was so beaten, she wondered if he had internal bleeding. She hoped not; she wasn’t prepared or educated enough to handle something of that extreme.

Still, she found her footing and moved forward, spreading the salve along his many small cuts and then applying a generous amount on the worst one. While she did that, Goku ditched the rag into the already red water and went about threading the needle for stitches, sanitizing the needle as he did. His face was still holding a scowl of sorts as he focused; the same sort of look that he would have if he was ever facing something particularly difficult, or if he was fighting someone strong and evil. He had fought many Icejin in the last year, and he always had the same, disapproving look on his face when he fought them.

Then, Chi-Chi stepped forward, having been hanging towards the doorway, and said, “How can I help?”

Bulma looked up, surprised that she was still in the room. Her friend shook her head and, with a quietness that was unusual for her, said, “I don’t know why you want to help this man. He looks like trouble. But, I know you two, and I know this is the right thing to do, even if it’s insane. If we’re gonna do this, I may as well help you any way I can so we have better success.”

At first, Bulma isn’t sure what job to give her. Then, after a moment, she says, “Get a pillow for his head and a new pair of clothes. Also, an IV drip and a small bottle of morphine.” When her friend’s eyes go wide at the mention of the last drug, she explains. “I’m gonna have to reset his ribs a bit. When he wakes up, it’s going to hurt like hell if I don’t give him at least a little bit. Also, by the looks of this guy, it may not be in our best interest to have him totally un-drugged when he wakes.”

Her friend nods after a moment and then sets about getting the supplies for an IV and morphine. They only have two very small bottles, and both had been extremely expensive, even for Bulma’s standards. She had been trying to bring more and more supplies to her hideout over here without spending enough money to catch anyone’s attention. Her dad had mentioned her spending once, but Bulma had brushed him off, saying she was an adult and that she could do her own side experiments if she wanted. He hadn’t argued with her on that and left it alone afterwards. But, those two bottles of morphine had been a tricky purchase, and she had decided to pay with untraceable credits instead of her usual zenni because she didn’t want anyone to question her further. 

After setting up the IV stand, Chi-Chi handed Bulma the cord and a sterilized needle, her hands already gloved to keep any germs away. Bulma took off her own gloves, now sticky with blood and salve, before sliding on a new pair and inserting the needle to the man’s scarred arm. God, she couldn’t believe how broken his body looked. For some reason, it made her incredibly sad. She kept working though, making sure the IV drip was set to a decent amount before taking the bottle of morphine and a fresh, empty needle from Chi-Chi. As she was filling it with a small amount, her friend left to get a fresh pair of clothes and a pillow. 

Goku was currently at Bulma’s side, stitching up the wound as best as he could. He had plenty of experience fixing a daily deep cut or icing some bruised elbows and knuckles. This gash was so crooked and cruel, deep and nearly pulsating with the nerve endings, that Bulma could tell he was having a hard time making the stitches straight and neat. His eyes were hardened, expression nearly stony as he focused, and suddenly, Bulma had the strangest feeling that her childhood friend could easily be one of the Silver Eyes, had he grown up differently. He looked a lot like the man the were helping in that moment, that she almost forgot she was supposed to be giving the stranger some drugs to help him sleep and heal.

As she was finishing the injection, and Goku was closing the last of the stitches, Chi-Chi came back with a blanket, a pillow, and some of Goku’s lounge clothes. They couldn’t move the man to a proper bed, not in his current state, so they wiped the blood from the steel, and situated the stranger with a pillow under his head and a blanket over his legs and half of his torso. Bulma didn’t want the fabric getting caught in their handiwork, so told them not to cover him up all the way. Goku helped her bandage his chest, reset the ribs, and put a small, pliant split along his chest. Setting the ribs had made the man groan drunkenly, a mumble of pain, and Bulma had to look away while Goku did the rest. The reality of the Dark Alleys was suddenly staring her in the face again and she felt scared. Hated that she felt scared, but she did.

Afterwards, Bulma was in the kitchen, still trying to scrub the blood out from under her fingernails, when Chi-Chi and Goku joined her. They watched her for a moment before moving about the kitchen in the soft blue glow of the sticks. She listened as they began to heat the food Chi-Chi had brought just an hour earlier, listened as Goku got cups and filled them with ice for their drinks, listened as the water ran over her hands.

She couldn’t help it. She was thinking of her childhood. Of that night, that one horrible night when they had marked her. When they had threatened everything, had taken the one truly bright thing her and her father had. Watched, screamed, struggled as the hot iron was pressed into her arm… hated everyone and everything more than ever. Bulma had been about six or seven years old, but her rage and heartbreak in those moments had been immense, had made her feel so scarily adult in her hatred that she almost feared herself. 

“-ma? Hey, Bulma?” A soft, cool hand touched her shoulder and she looked up to see Chi-Chi standing next to her, large dark eyes watching her with concern. Only, her friend looked blurred, and it was then that she realized she had started to cry. Her anger, her heartache, was simmering right under her self-destruct line, and she had to close her eyes. Took a few deep breaths, in and out, before opening them again.

“I’m alright.” She sighed, turning off the faucet and giving her friends a tired smile. “Let’s eat for now and then get some sleep. I’ll fix the breakers first thing tomorrow and then we can continue our work on the chip.”

They nodded, gesturing for her to sit with them, and she obliged. Kami, she hoped helping that man hadn’t been a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I am so sorry it took so long to do an update! We got into the holiday seasons and, since I work retail, life has been insanely busy! Also, my husband and I had to prep for a table to sell our artwork at our local Christmas Parade, so my art has been more of a focus recently! BUT! I have since joined a discord group that helps me to feel motivated in finishing my writing, so hopefully my updates will start to be more frequent again!  
> I can't wait for the new DBZ/DBS movie, omg!!!!! I hope y'all are dong well and that you like this chapter, even if I made it a little short this time around!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to those who have read this! I was really and truly inspired by ETERN4L to write a new fic! I know some of you may have been waiting for the PotDS to update instead, but I couldn't help myself. I worked on this for the last week and a half because I wanted it to come out good. Hopefully you guys like it, ahhh!  
> Leave a comment down below to let me know your thoughts!  
> Thanks again so much! So far, everything I've written has been really well received by this fandom, and I feel so blessed by it! The DBZ fandom is full of such wonderful, amazing talent, and lots of open arms to newcomers! Thank you thank you!!!  
> Anyway, I hope you all have a lovely day.
> 
> Love,  
> Starrcross


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